


That Untravell'd World

by alltoseek, feroxargentea



Series: Don't Ask, Don't Tell [2]
Category: Master and Commander - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/pseuds/feroxargentea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a year or two after <i>Don’t Ask Don’t Tell</i>. Readers voted <i>DADT</i> pre-slash rather than gen, so here is the slashy postscript :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Untravell'd World

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Not really. Characters up to _The Mauritius Command_  
>  Disclaimer: Jack and Stephen belong to the late Patrick O’Brian and are borrowed with love

“Ah, there you are, Stephen!” cried Jack Aubrey, clapping him on the shoulder, unwrapping him from his dripping great-coat and pushing him bodily into one of a pair of chairs set cosily by the fire, before sitting back down in the other. “I intended to stay in the taproom, but Mrs Broad was certain you would not mind my waiting in your chambers.”

“Not at all, at all.” Stephen Maturin kicked off his sodden boots and stretched out his legs to the fire for a few minutes, steaming contentedly, until the sight of the toasting-fork propped on the hearth recalled him to a sense of his duties as host. He wiped the rain from his spectacles, put them back on and peered through them at Jack. “Have you supped?”

“No, nothing since a mug of porter at Putney. I left my dunnage at Black’s, and when you were denied there I came straight to the Grapes in search of you.”

“You must be half-famished, so. There is fresh soft-tack and a respectable cheese in the right-hand press.  You might fetch them out whilst I bid Lucy bring a bottle or two.”

Jack rose from his chair and, crossing the hearth, opened the cupboard and very swiftly closed it again at the sight of a bloated severed arm on one of the stained shelves.

Stephen, having dismissed the maidservant, turned from the door in time to see the colour drain from Jack’s face. “Ah. Was it the right-hand press I said? I meant the left, the larboard. Never mind it, Jack, Padeen shall boil it down for the bones tomorrow; a most curious specimen, though the weather having been so oppressively, so uncharacteristically unEnglishly warm, it has not kept so well as it might. Here is the bread-knife.”

“That is not – Stephen, that is never a bone-saw?”

“Is it not the identical same thing? And quite clean I do assure you. That is rust, not blood, in its teeth. Do you toast the bread whilst I broil the cheese.” And so saying, he impaled the lump of hard cheese on the poker and held it over the fire, turning it with studied precision as it began to soften and bubble.

“Yes,” he mumbled a few minutes later over a mouthful of toasted cheese, “a fine specimen, a compound ulnar-radial fracture misaligned and callused over in life with new osseous formation, much as James Kirkwood’s might have been had I not re-set it.” He glanced over at his friend. “And you, Jack, what brings you so precipitously to the city? Some urgent commission? I had supposed you ensconced at Ashgrove for the summer at least. Sophie is well, and the children?”

“Yes, I thank you, all well. She sends her love to you, of course. I have one or two points to consult with the Admiralty, nothing pressing.”

“And yet you dashed pell-mell and supperless to the Grapes.” Stephen raised his glass. “Not that it is not delightful to meet with an old shipmate, my dear, but it has been all of a week. May I not be trusted for a sennight ashore?”

Jack smiled at him, but it was a troubled smile, and he drained his glass before answering. “Of course you may. Have your meetings proved productive? It was the Entomological Society you came for, I believe you said.”

“And to seek out Kirkwood, though I did not mention that in front of Sophie, naturally.”

Jack stared into the fire. “Naturally. You came to find him, then.”

“Not solely, but I confess that was my chief motivation, though indeed it has been more troublesome than I had supposed, inquiries in the usual places proving fruitless. This morning I finally had word of a boatyard some way upriver owned by a Mr Jacob Harris, likely the one I sought, and a weary long ride it was to be sure.”

“Jacob Harris?” Jack looked blank.

“Former carpenter of the _Wayfarer_. You will not have forgotten Kirkwood’s association with him, though I might not have mentioned his name.”

“Ah. I wish – that is, you might have told me of your search and I could have accompanied you.”

“Bless you, Jack, a visit from two naval officers and one of those a post-captain in all his glory would not have been quite the thing. A surgeon’s coat is rather more discreet, though I was by no means sure of my welcome. As it was, the door was opened by a young woman, baby on hip. You might well look surprised; no more so than I, but when she called for her brother Jake the matter became clear.”

“And did you find Kirkwood there, too?”

“I did. Almost unrecognisable he was, stout and hale, covered in wood-shavings, plane in one hand. Harris builds ferry-boats and wherries for use in the city, but lives in the more salubrious village of Teddington, further from the reach of the press; and while Kirkwood’s left arm has not a sawyer’s strength, it seems he has taken to plane and lathe like a carpenter born. One might wonder how many other such skills lie lost amongst His Majesty’s officers.” He smiled at Jack’s expression. “Lost is perhaps the wrong word. Dormant, then. He is thriving, however, and seems quite content at his place in the Harris household.”

“I am glad of it.” Jack rose, crossed to the window and peered out, gladness not particularly evident in his countenance.

“I too, and I confess I was especially gratified at the straightness and sturdiness of his arm, of which I had had my doubts.”

“You are to be congratulated, Stephen.” Jack spoke absentmindedly, however, and presently added, “I should be on my way.”

“Sure you are never going back to Black’s tonight? The darkest night it is, and sodden. Padeen might have gone with you, but I gave him the day’s leave and it is doubtful he could stand upright by now.”

“I must; my dunnage is there and I have not a nightcap to my name.”

“Nonsense, my dear. Mrs Broad will not mind your staying here in the least, and as to garments here is a nightshirt to spare, and quite clean, as you see.” He held up the shirt as evidence.

Jack turned from the window, his weary face transformed by a sudden broad smile. He laid his hands on Stephen’s shoulders and beamed down at him. “Oh, oh,” he cried, shaking as he began to chuckle and then gasp until his eyes streamed and a slightly hysterical note entered his laughter. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Stephen, I do not mean any slight, but do you not see…” He plucked the garment from Stephen’s hands and held it up to himself, a ludicrous mismatch. “I might as easily wear one of little George’s pinafores. Never mind it, I shall wrap myself in a sheet instead, ha ha. Oh, I am glad of a laugh at any expense. A wretched time I have had of it, upon my word, racing across country imagining I know not what, dunderhead that I am, and here you are enthusing over broken limbs.” He wiped his eyes.

Stephen took the nightshirt back, rolled it into a bundle and tossed it into a corner. “Forgive me, Jack. All this time I have been congratulating myself on my perspicacity in locating our old shipmate, with never a thought for your concern, your very natural proper concern.”

“I did not mean that you – I did not suppose that you and he – but you have never taken enough care for your reputation…” Jack was flushed from more than laughter.

“A fig for my reputation, you pay it too much mind. If you had supposed me lost to the delights of Thames boatwrights you were mistaken, but no great matter; I am returned safely, as ever.” He reached up and straightened Jack’s neckcloth, which had been ruffled by the nightshirt. “Your discretion, your forbearance from questioning is invaluable in the companion of one required to act covertly from time to time – in matters connected with my _other_ profession, you understand me – and one in whom such secrecy has become habitual, but set your mind at rest, joy: I intend always to return. There, now.” He patted Jack’s lapel into place.

Jack put his hand over Stephen’s and held it there. “I am a very great fool,” he said simply. His heart was hammering very palpably; Stephen had started to count the beats, his mind telling over the possible causes of tachycardia, when he felt Jack’s lips touch his forehead, and he lost both his count and his train of thought. He leant into the kiss for a long moment and then another, eyes closed, breath quickening, aware of Jack’s arousal and his own.

The thing was impossible, of course; the risk too high, the penalty too heavy, his need too great. He exhaled hard and pulled away, withdrawing his hand from Jack’s grasp. Ignoring Jack’s dismayed expression, he strode quickly to the window, where he closed the shutters, and then to the door, which he locked and bolted.

“There. If we must be foolish, let us at least be foolish _sub rosa_. Can you be silent?”

Jack was still standing irresolute and stupid in the middle of the room, hesitant as he had never been with women. Stephen took his hand again, pulling him gently towards the bed. “Come now, soul, I will find out.”

Tenderly he encouraged Jack to sit on the bed and perched next to him, turning towards him, one leg pulled up and bent at the knee, the other braced against the floor.

Lifting his hands to Jack’s face, he caressed away the worried expression, cupping the back of Jack’s head and neck to entice him down to meet Stephen’s mouth. He watched as Jack’s eyes fluttered closed and his lips softly parted, and then shut his own eyes as their mouths met.

Their lips moved over each other’s with the same grace and harmony as their bows ever played their instruments, their notes entwining and climbing as their breaths did now, as if they’d rehearsed this moment as often as they’d played long into the night, the candlelight softly illuminating the needless scores. Here the fire glowed, a lesser counterpart to the heat building within, illumination equally unnecessary but serving to chase away the darkness. The world might condemn, but there would be no shame here, no hiding in shadows.

This moment could hold eternity as the last note of a violin’s soliloquy and Stephen would be content. He felt Jack’s arms come around his waist, Jack’s broad thigh press up against his own, and Jack’s tongue touch his like an electric spark, and then it was Stephen who forgot the need for silence as he gasped and then moaned into the warmth, their tongues dancing, stroking, exploring, Stephen’s heart bounding into his throat. His hands moved of their own accord, working out the queue of Jack’s hair, loosening the neckcloth so recently straightened. Jack’s hands likewise wandered, one up the length of Stephen’s back to crush him ever closer, the other in opposition attempting to resolve the buttons of Stephen’s coat and waistcoat.

Hands flustered and frustrated, finally Jack pulled away. “This is impossible,” he said, flushed and panting, eyes blazing blue under their heavy lids.

“Ridiculous,” agreed Stephen. His deft fingers had already disposed of Jack’s neckcloth and now made quick work of the many buttons down Jack’s front.

“Stephen,” Jack murmured. “Stephen.” His hands caressed Stephen’s face, removed the wig and neckcloth. He watched his friend in wonder, and then bent to kiss him again, as passionately and tenderly as he’d ever felt through all these years, as if every emotion his heart had ever held could be pushed through his lips into his love’s very soul.

Stephen worked his hands under Jack’s shirt, tracing the muscles and scars so well known that he did not have to see in order to visualise the map of the captain’s battles engraved on his body. Jack had slewed his generous frame towards Stephen and was uncomfortably twisted. Stephen coaxed him farther onto the bed and straddled his lap. Any lingering concern he might have had that his friend was yet hesitant or unsure was put to rest, and with that knowledge came a growing awareness of his own heated and constricted state. “Clothes,” he murmured, breaking their kiss.

“Clothes?” said Jack, puzzled.

“Too many,” replied Stephen, working his way out of his waistcoat and breeches.

“Yes, by God!” said Jack, and discarded the last of his clothing unceremoniously.

Delightfully nude – _man_ _’_ _s natural state_ , mused Stephen, even as he was about to engage in an ‘unnatural’ act – the two men slipped under the covers of the bed. The bed-linen warmed up quickly, and the darkness gave a deliciously cosy feeling to their illicit activity, hands and lips free to roam and wander again. Stephen slipped his chronically chilled feet between Jack’s large calves, and Jack responded by pulling him even closer, trying to wrap his large frame about his friend’s smaller one. Stephen gave in to the comforting sensation, nestling his head in the crook of Jack’s neck, focussed on the feeling of the large callused hands stroking and caressing, not always so gently now, along his spine from shoulders to backside. His buttocks were gripped firmly and he heard Jack groan as he thrust his pelvis into Stephen’s groin. 

“Handsomely now, joy,” Stephen whispered. Jack relaxed his hold but continued to thrust and slide against Stephen’s body, seeking his pleasure. With one hand Stephen reached to hold Jack’s head still, lips seeking mouth, and with his other hand he reached between their bodies to grasp Jack’s erection, eliciting another groan and a gasp. 

“Stephen, love, Stephen,” Jack murmured between kisses. Reassuring him with nonsense of his own, Stephen firmly slid Jack’s foreskin up and down over the head, in rhythm with Jack’s own thrusts, which Jack tried to contain but could not refrain from altogether. Gliding up, Stephen ran his thumb over the glans of Jack’s penis, smoothing the pre-ejaculate in circles around the head. Gliding down, his thumb slid to caress the frenulum and sensitive areas under the glans. Back and forth, his tongue in Jack’s mouth thrusting in and out in the same rhythm, until Jack cried out, muffled in Stephen’s mouth, and his semen spilled warm over Stephen’s hand.

Stephen kept his hand still over Jack’s throbbing but softening member whilst Jack’s panting returned to normal breaths. Then he slowly took his own penis in hand, still slick with Jack’s seed. With his other hand about his friend’s shoulders, holding him close, he stroked himself toward his own pleasure. Suddenly he felt Jack’s hand covering his, working firmly with him. His eyes flew open to meet Jack’s, their usual brilliant blue so deep in the darkened room. Stephen let his hand relax, Jack’s quick confident strokes bringing him closer and closer. He closed his eyes, still conscious of Jack’s gaze intent on his face, Jack’s own face flushed with his recent pleasure. Stephen basked in the love radiating off Jack in waves, the approaching ecstasy nearly lifting him up. At the moment of his climax his eyes flew open and he was lost, lost again in the deep deep blue, the deepest he had ever known.


End file.
